Shot for Shot
by Rhapsodista
Summary: When the team gathers at Charlie's for a rowdy weekend off, Don begins to realize that he doesn't really know his little brother at all...  Rated for language and general stupid behavior.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer 1: I regret to inform that I do not own anything Numb3rs. Not even the DVD. Yet.

Disclaimer 2: I am my own beta. If there are errors, whoops.

Disclaimer 3: You may very well walk away from this story significantly dumber than when you approached it. It is a senseless, silly waste of time. Despite which, it is the Numb3rs episode that I myself am dying...DYING...to see. As they have yet to accomodate me, I have been forced to fashion my own episode. Enjoy.

Author's note: This is a three-part story. It is already written, I'll just post it in sections. See, I can do chapters. :)

* * *

**Shot for Shot**

Don Eppes checked his watch for what must have been the fifth time in four minutes. Less than an hour now. In fifty-seven short minutes, he'd be heading out of the office for his much-anticipated quarterly weekend off, and damn did he need it. He had big plans for a case of Bud, a bucket of chicken and a double header. That, and a whole lot of…nothing.

He loved his job. Loved it. Loved the idea of always being on the move, of serving and protecting, of bringing down the cretins and bad guys. But it could be trying, both physically and emotionally. They'd just wrapped a big case, one that had been plaguing the department for weeks. And it involved a kid, a little girl, and that was never easy to deal with. Don needed the weekend to forget.

"So Don, you got any big plans for the weekend?" David Sinclair asked as he meandered his way through the office to Don's desk. "Hot date?" he said with a smirk. Don laughed. "Yeah, with the couch. You?" David shook his head. "Nah. Nothing special. Just gonna grab a six-pack and chill." Don nodded. "That's about what I had planned."

"Whatcha have planned?" asked Colby, ambling up with a stack of files in his hand. Don bypassed the question and gestured to the paperwork. "You done?" Colby grinned. "Hell yeah. I am done and out of here. I've been ready for this weekend for weeks." He set the folders on the desk. "So what are your plans?" Don shrugged and leaned back in his chair. "No, no plans really. Just relaxing with a few beers." Colby's face lit up. "Cool idea. Can I come?" Don looked at him. Colby smirked. "I mean, unless you wanted a quiet weekend, just the two of you." David laughed, taking a seat. "Not together Colby. We're gonna grab our own booze and sit in our own houses. Alone." Colby considered this before speaking. "Or," he said, raising a hand, "we could drink all weekend long. Together. That'd be fun, right? Haven't taken a whole weekend to get tanked in awhile. And we could all use it after this one, am I right?" At their skeptical glances, he pushed on. "Oh, come on. Call it team bonding."

"Team bonding? This a gentleman's affair or can the ladies play too?" Megan Reeves inquired as she came up behind Colby, also clutching a stack of files. Colby turned to her smiling. "Oh come on Reeves—you're a lady like I'm a lady." She smiled sweetly. "Why Colby, I had no idea." She turned to Don and David. "So what's going on?" Colby interjected again. "I'm trying to round the boys up for a frat style weekend of togetherness. I could use some back-up." Megan beamed. "Oh yeah? Can we play drinking games? I haven't done that since I was in college." Colby smirked. "What kind of games did you play? Strip poker?" She leveled him. "And what's your game of choice Granger? I peg you as an 'Asshole' fan, myself." He gave her a look of mock appreciation. "That sounds like a challenge. You realize I could out-drink you with my liver tied behind my back?" Megan sneered at him. "Bring it on, tough guy." David, who was watching the exchange with great amusement, turned to Don. "I don't know man. What do you think?"

Don stared at them. What did he think? He thought he saw his quiet weekend alone going down the toilet, that's what he thought. He sighed. Ah, hell. Why not. He could drink alone, or he could drink with his team. Together. He looked at them, giving in.

"Who's place?"

* * *

Charlie Eppes ran a hand through this hair before rising from his desk at CalSci. Done. _Finally_. He hated midterms. They embodied everything that he hated about the world of academia. Learning should be embraced, cherished—not tested. But until that revolutionary concept made its way across the country, he'd just have to put up with stacks and stacks of exams. 

But he was finished now, and he had the whole weekend free of professorial demands. With his father gone on his bi-annual fishing trip with his brother he'd have the whole house to himself. The timing was unfortunate—Amita was in San Diego for a conference, and wasn't coming back until Monday afternoon. It would have proven an ideal weekend for…well, anyway, she was gone, and he'd have to make other use of his time. Maybe he'd work on his Cognitive Emergence Theory. He'd been making an effort to put more focus into his research, tried not to let so many other things get in the way of his own intellectual progress. But Don had brought him in on a rough case, and though his own contributions to it had ceased several days ago, he'd had a little trouble getting back into the swing of things. Since he'd started consulting for the bureau several years before, his experiences with the FBI had been quite an eye-opener to the more undesirable aspects of life. But he could handle it, much better than his brother seemed to think. He knew that Don had taken special care with this one to keep him right on the bubble, as if he'd fall apart at the gross humanity of it all. Not that he had any real desire to get right down to the grit of it, but he wasn't the basket case his brother seemed to think. He'd seen his share of the world, and he'd seen it without his big brother standing behind him and holding him up.

Speaking of Don, Charlie knew that this weekend was his brother's elusive weekend off as well. With his dad out of town it wasn't likely that he'd see much of him anyway—Don didn't usually spend a lot of time at the house when it was just Charlie. Not that he was complaining—he enjoyed his time with his brother on a professional basis, and it was a nice, if somewhat rare, bonus when they'd do things together outside of work. They'd made a lot of progress since their adolescent years, and he didn't take a day of it for granted.

He gathered up his things and headed out, locking his office door behind him. A weekend of theory. That was the plan.

That was the plan.

* * *

"So what do you guys think—a little pre-gaming at the bar or straight to the scene?" Colby walked with a bounce in his step, wholly excited at the prospect of a drunken weekend with his team. He didn't drink to excess very often, but hell, every now and then it was just good for the soul. And this was one of those times. And aside from a social drink here and there, they'd never really gone out as a group and just cut loose. Well, except for the time that he and David got tanked at Nico's and almost got thrown out for disorderly conduct. But that's when an FBI badge comes in real handy. But that was just the two of them…he couldn't wait to see Don Eppes plastered. And he would be plastered, if Colby had anything to say about it. That guy needed to loosen up a bit…wound like a drum, that one. 

"Let's skip the bar. I'd rather just relax, and that's not easy to do when you're fending off dirty drunk guys all night long," Megan said, crinkling her nose. "I second that," called David, earning a laugh as they headed down the walkway from the FBI building.

Don turned to face them as they headed to their vehicles. "Well, we never decided. Where are we going?" They glanced at each other, and Megan spoke first. "Look, I'd ask you all to my place, but you'll have to give me about a week head start to straighten up a little bit. Not really fit for human habitation right now." Colby held his hands up. "Well my place is spotless, but I have neighbors on both sides, one of whom is a completely unpleasant ninety year old woman who hates me. I don't know how rowdy you all get, but it might not be the best spot." David laughed. "I don't have any running water." They looked at him. "Well, I normally do, but they're replacing the pipes in my apartment. Won't be up and running for another day or so." He looked at Don. "Your place it is." Don thought about that. His apartment wasn't really all that big. And by "not all that big" he meant tiny. It was perfectly sufficient for him, but as far as hosting 3 other people…where the hell would they all sleep? He didn't even have extra pillows.

But he could think of a place that _did_ have extra pillows.

"Hey, what do you think of heading over to Charlie's?" Colby actually jumped a little, and gave out a whoop. "Yes! Whiz Kid hammered! I'm so there Don, _so_ there!" Don smiled, but stopped him. "Hey, I don't even know what he's doing this weekend, so don't get too excited. And I don't even think he'd drink with us. I can't remember the last time he even picked up a beer. But I'm sure he won't mind us crashing there. My dad's gone this week, so he'll probably enjoy the company." They all agreed, and split up—Don and Megan to get the food, Colby and David to get the booze—and planned to meet at Casa Eppes in an hour.

Waving goodbye to Megan and Don, Colby turned to David. "Not gonna drink with us? Like hell."

* * *

Charlie was in the zone. 

He stared intently at the board in front of him, his headphones blaring at what might be an uncomfortable level for someone else, but the perfect level of escapism for Charlie. His hand flew across the slate, a blur of numbers and symbols that not only made sense to him but _exhilarated_ him. He was on a roll.

Don and Megan pulled into the driveway of Charlie's house just moments ahead of David and Colby. As Don began pulling out bags of chips, pretzels and various other snack foods, Megan reached into the backseat to retrieve the stack of fresh, hot pizzas from Carmine's. "We didn't know what toppings you guys liked, so we got a little of everything," she said, watching as they began to unload. Colby laughed. "That's funny. So did we."

He wasn't kidding. By the time they'd gotten everything into the house, Don was starting to wonder if they were hosting a block party that he didn't know about. They'd bought _far_ more booze than the four of them could ever hope to consume in one weekend, unless a trip to the ER became the grand finale. He shut the door behind Colby, wondering vaguely what he'd gotten himself into.

"Charlie!" He called out to alert his brother to their presence. He'd tried to reach him on the way over but had gotten the machine—his attempts to reach him on his cell had yielded the same result. Don knew that Charlie was coming off of midterm week, so it was possible that he was still on campus. He was pretty sure that his brother would be all right with the intrusion…pretty sure.

"Where's Charlie?" Colby asked, draping his jacket onto a chair in the kitchen. Don was about to respond when he noticed a familiar light on in the garage. He walked across the kitchen and opened the door slowly, grinned at the sight of his brother in his mathematical glory. He held a hand up to his lips, demanding quiet, and snuck in behind him.

The other three glanced at each other, then scurried after him. They weren't missing this.

* * *

Don could hear the music raging from his brother's earphones from all the way across the garage. He didn't know why he was creeping across the room—Charlie wouldn't have heard him if he bellowed his name from a bullhorn. He heard his team piling in behind him, took no heed, kept going. He waited until he was less than a foot behind his brother, heard Megan's scolding "Don!" snuffed out by Colby and David's encouragement. He reached his hands out, a grin spreading across his face. 

But before he could scare the shit out of him, Charlie turned around. At the unexpected sight someone standing _right_ behind him, Charlie yelled and stumbled backwards, flailing his arms out as he went down. Don, just as shocked as his brother at the turn of events, reached an arm down to grab him. But as the weight of Charlie's body hit the bottom half of the board it swung overhead, flipping on its hinges, and clubbed Don right on the top of his head. He grabbed at it with both hands, abandoning his attempts to help Charlie, who lay in a heap on the dusty floor of the garage.

Charlie ripped his earphones out, his eyes wide and outraged as he struggled to stand. "Jesus Christ Don! What the hell!" Don, till clutching his head, stepped back guiltily, wincing as he hit an especially tender spot. "God Charlie, freak out much? It's not as if I was wielding a knife or anything." Charlie stared at him, flabbergasted, then turned his attention to the raucous crowd at the door.

Colby was literally on his knees, his face red as he gasped for breath between his laughter. Megan clutched the railing for support, and David reached up to wipe tears from his eyes. At the sight of them, Don's frown slowly turned to a smile, and soon he to was laughing at the absurdity of it all. Only Charlie, who'd managed to regain his footing and was absently rubbing his back, didn't quite see the humor.

"That was—the funniest thing—I've _ever_ seen!" Colby said, coughing a bit as he tried to regain control of himself. He caught Charlie's incredulous look and made every effort to stop laughing and be serious, but a sideways glance from Megan had them all in stitches once again. "You're such an asshole Don," he said, putting a hand down to lift himself from the floor. Don stared back innocently. "What? I was just gonna grab his shoulder…he's the one that had a damn panic attack at the sight of me." Charlie scowled at him. "Well, a little warning would be great next time." He reached down to grab his earphones, still blasting The Chemical Brothers at full volume. "What are you guys doing here?"

"We're here," Colby said, before the others could speak, "to get wasted. For the whole weekend. And you're invited. Cause, you know…it's your house." Charlie stared at him. He looked at Don, to confirm, who nodded. "Yeah, pretty much. If it's cool with you." Charlie turned to look at his work on the chalkboard. He'd been making good progress…

He looked back at his brother. "Sounds good," he answered, tossing his music down and following them out to the kitchen, and with a fleeting glance at his math he shut the door.

It _did_ sound good. Screw it.

* * *

To be continued... 


	2. Chapter 2

**Shot for Shot**

_Chapter 2_

* * *

"All right, here's how it's gonna work," Colby said, holding up his beer as if to make an announcement. "We're gonna start off with 'Power Hour' and social time. After that, we move on to the challenges. We each choose a game, and if you back out you're a loser. And if you puke, you're a loser." He turned to Megan, smirking. "We'll let Megan choose the first game, since she probably won't be around for the second one. Everyone good?" Charlie and Don, both entirely amused, said nothing. Megan rolled her eyes, and David asked, "What's Power Hour?" Colby tossed him a bottle of beer. "Power Hour is a span of time in which participants take one drink per minute. The drink can be as big or small as you want, as long as you're consuming alcohol every sixty seconds." David raised an eyebrow. "That's a game?" Colby nodded. "It's harder than it looks David. And it's good warm-up. And we can eat while we're doing it. I'm starving." Charlie looked around at the ridiculously large quantity of alcohol. "What happens if you don't drink every minute?" Colby pointed to him. "That's a great question. If you don't drink and nobody catches it, you're in the clear. But if someone does catch it, you drink until they tell you to stop." Charlie nodded. "Got it." 

Don watched his brother. He didn't want Charlie to feel pressured to try to keep up with them. He didn't know everything about his personal life, but he'd never pegged Charlie as a drinker, social or otherwise. He wasn't kidding when he'd said that he couldn't recall the last time he'd seen him drink a beer. He'd keep an eye on things, make sure they didn't get too out of control.

At Colby's command, Power Hour commenced, and they all camped out in the living room with the pizza and snacks. As the others engaged in an animated conversation about "Obama girl," Colby spent most of this time quietly watching Megan, counting the seconds in his head, hoping to catch her exceeding the sixty-second mark. But she dutifully took sip after sip, and Colby was so intent in his observations that he twice forgot to drink himself. The first to catch him was Don, who gave a quiet indication to finish his beer. The second time a gleeful David made him chug a whole new bottle before letting him off the hook.

"All right. Power Hour is…over," Colby said,looking at his watch for verification. "Well played everyone, well played." Megan laughed at Colby's declaration. "Yeah, that's magnanimous of you, since everyone _but_ you managed to drink on schedule." He didn't respond, instead tossing her a deck of cards that Charlie had pulled out earlier. "Okay Reeves. You call it. What's the first challenge?"

Megan bit her lip, trying to think of a game they'd all know how to play. She pulled a chair out at the table, indication to the others to take a seat. She shuffled for a moment before her face lit up. "I got it! Let's play 'Rhyme Me'!" Charlie grinned, Don and David looked confused, and Colby groaned. "Ah, that's such a chick game! You don't even need cards!" Megan smiled wider. "You said I got to pick first, and that's what I want to play. I used to love that game." Don raised a hand. "How do you play?" Colby rolled his eyes. "One person says a word. You go clockwise around the table and everyone has to say a word that rhymes with it. If you repeat a word or can't think of one, you drink until the person that chose the word says stop." As he stopped, Megan jumped in. "And it has to be a rhyme-able word. Can't say 'orange' or anything like that." David still had a question. "But what if the one who chose the word is the one who has to drink?" Megan interjected there. "Then the person on their left tells them when to stop." At this, Colby perked up. "Charlie, switch seats with me." Charlie shrugged and got up, heading around the table as Colby settled in to the left of Megan. He gave her a smile. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Everyone got a drink?" When they all nodded in the affirmative, Megan leaned back in her chair. Okay, I start. The word is… tank."

"Frank," said Colby. David thought for a moment. "Bank." Charlie was up, who quickly said "crank." Don chimed in with "shank," bringing it back to Megan. "Dank," she said, turning to Colby. "Skank," he said, without missing a beat. "What?" he said at her look. "It's a commonly used word." She shook her head. David, Charlie and Don had all gone around with "blank, shank and flank," respectively, and it was her turn again. "Um…" she searched for a word, scanning her brain, drawing a blank. "Oh, I think you're out!" Colby exclaimed, delighted. "Go ahead and take a drink Megan." She grabbed her beer and started drinking, looking at Colby, exasperated. He crossed his arms, a smug smile on his face. "Don't worry, I'll tell you when to stop."

After she'd finished half the bottle, David convinced Colby to give her a break and choose a word for the new round. They went twice around the table, Colby taking special care in his selections to choose words that would ineviatbly produce a gem of a response. After ten rounds or so, Colby observed the table. "All right, I'm done with this.Who's got a new challenge? And can we make it a man's game, please?" Megan stuck her tongue out at him, and David grabbed the cards. "Everybody know Bullshit?" Don nodded, looked at his brother. "Charlie?" Charlie nodded, raising an eye, wondering why he was being singled out. "Yeah Don, I know how to play Bullshit." Don looked genuinely surprised, but shrugged it off as David dealt the cards.

Half an hour later, Don had realized that not only did Charlie know how to play Bullshit, but he played it very well. He thought back to a case they'd had awhile ago and smirked. "Should have known better than to let the card counter play with us," he said nodding to Charlie, smiling to let him know he was kidding. Charlie smiled back. "Nah, Larry's the card counter, not me." Don looked at his cards, waiting his turn. He was definitely starting to feel the burn, and based on Colby's rowdy laughter, Megan's giggling and David's unnatural quietness, he could tell that his team was in the same boat. The only one not showing any outward signs of inebriation was Charlie. Well hell, just because he didn't want him _plastered_ didn't mean that he couldn't get a little drunk. He'd agreed to join them, after all. He nudged Colby with his foot, who looked up questioningly. Don gestured to Charlie and tapped his beer, trying to communicate with his eyes. After a few conspicuous moments of looking back and forth, Colby got it, and gave Don a wide grin.

"All right, enough of this bullshit," he said, laughing out loud at his pun. "My turn. Let's play us some Asshole." Megan shrieked with laughter. "I knew it! You're such an asshole!" Colby nodded condescendingly. "Good one Megan. Clever." Colby started dealing. "All right, this is our qualifying round to determine position. Anyone need a refresher on Asshole?" When David nodded, Colby explained. "I'll deal out all the cards. After this point, Asshole deals, but we don't know who the asshole is yet." Megan chuckled. "Yes, we do." Colby ignored her and continued, "Left of the dealer starts it off. They lay down a card, the next person lays down a card greater than that one, and so on. If you have doubles you can lay them down and the next person has to lay down higher value doubles too. Laying down the same card skips the next person, four of the same is a social, twos are wild and threes are scraps. First person to go out is President, then Vice President, Secretary, Treasurer, and Asshole. President gets to make the rules for each round, and two consecutive turns as President and you can make a general rule that will apply for the rest of the game, regardless of status. And if at any time you can't lay down a card, you drink. Good?" David nodded. "Yep. All coming back to me."

Colby finished dealing and the qualifier round got underway. Much to Megan's chagrin, Colby (to his great and obnoxious delight) went out first and was declared President, and the rest of them struggled to play out their cards—they didn't need experience to tell them that being the Asshole to Colby's President could not be a good thing.

Don went out next, followed by David, and it was down to Megan and Charlie for the Treasurer spot. Colby was tickled pink…ether one would do…and Megan breathed a big sigh of relief when she laid out her last card. Charlie sighed, catching the glint in Colby's eye as he shoved the cards across the table.

"Deal 'em, Asshole."

* * *

As Charlie shuffled the cards, Colby insisted that it was time to break out the liquor. He returned to the table with five shot glasses and handed them out, bringing a bottle of Johnnie Walker and Captain Morgan along with him. As Charlie dealt, Colby doled out the drinks. 

Charlie picked his cards up and started arranging. He had a buzz going, for sure, but he could hold his liquor well. And although he was having fun, he had caught Don and Colby's not-so-subtle interaction before and had the very bad feeling that he was about to become the novelty. But at least Don seemed to have moved past the weirdly protective mother-hen thing—all night long he'd seemed nothing short of astounded that his baby brother wasn't up and dancing on tables. It'd be great if he would just get over himself, if they could chill and drink together like the adults that they were. Despite Don's thoughts to the contrary, Charlie was not a lightweight.

And apparently, the time had come to prove it.

"Before we start, I'd like to implement my first rule as President." Colby looked around the table, trying to formulate a good one. "Got it. Anytime someone is skipped, Asshole has to drink." Charlie glanced up from his cards with a smile, raising his eyebrows. Before he could respond, Colby stopped him. "And Asshole, you don't speak unless spoken to. If you do—" he stopped talking and picked up his shot glass meaningfully. "Understood?" Charlie nodded. Colby grinned. "Let's play."

Several minutes later, it was obvious that they _all_ had it in for him. Three skips in the first two sets around the table could have been coincidence, but when Colby started a conversation with Don about the Pythagorean theorem and its applications in society, it was obvious that they were just baiting him. After an agonizing five minutes of this drivel, Charlie just couldn't take it.

"God Colby, do you even know what the Pythagorean theorem is?" Colby stared at him coolly a moment before grabbing the bottle of Johnnie Walker. "Sorry Asshole?" he said as he poured Charlie his fourth shot in as many minutes. "Was I talking to you?" Charlie downed the shot and set his glass on the table, feeling the burn as the liquor swam down his throat. He leaned back in his chair. "Won't happen again sir," he said sarcastically. Colby nodded. "Good. So Don, what are your thoughts on Archimedes?"

* * *

Man, were they schnookered. 

Don looked around the table, not quite sure what game they were playing. Still Asshole, but there was no clear President, or Asshole or anyone in between. It had turned from a nice, structured game with direction and regulations to a collection of absurd rules that people—Colby, specifically—seemed to be pulling from thin air.

"Megan! Take a drink!" Megan looked at him, eyes wide. "Why? What the hell'd I do?" Colby looked at her, swaying just a bit at the table. "You touched your hair." She scoffed at him. "Why can't I touch my hair? Tha's not a rule." He grabbed the Schnapps, poured her another shot. "Is now. I'm still the President." She shook her head. "You aren't the President!" He looked at her. "Oh no? Then who is?" She began to speak but found that she couldn't answer. Colby shrugged. "So drink. And hey, take two for arguing with your Commander-in-Chief."

Megan rolled her eyes, but obligingly took her shots, and Colby's eyes wandered to Charlie. "Charlie!" he shouted, louder than he'd meant to, and Charlie jumped at the sound. Colby squinted his eyes, scrutinizing him. "Not drunk enough," he said softly. Then louder, "Why aren't you drunk enough?" Charlie shrugged, careful to remain steady. Oh, he was plenty drunk. But aside from Colby and Megan, nobody else seemed ready to fall over, and he refused to be the first to go. He leaned back a little as Colby shoved an unopened bottle of Brandy in his face. "Drink till I tell ya ta stop," Colby said, slurring just slightly. "I'm the President." At this, Charlie saw Don raise his hands in protest, and sighed. Here we go. Well get a load of _this_, Don.

Don watched Charlie unscrew the cap and raise the bottle. Colby's eyes grew wide as he saw that Charlie was actually going to do it, and he started pounding the table. "Chug! Chug! Chug!" Megan and David joined in, laughing. Don shook his head. Poor guy was gonna kill himself. Enough of this.

"Charlie…Charlie, stop." He reached out to grab the bottle from his brother and was surprised when he moved away, kept drinking. Kid didn't know when to stop. He grabbed him by the shoulder, stumbling a little as he too had consumed more than his share, and pulled the bottle from his mouth. Unfortunately, Charlie was mid-swig and ended up with a face full of brandy. Don made a move to apologize when Charlie pushed his seat back and stood, face to face with his brother.

"Jesus, Don, will you stop? I'm not a little kid, all right! You don't need to protect me!" The teams' riotous laughter slowed a bit, and it took a moment for their brains to catch up with the action as they observed the sudden change in atmosphere. Don gaped at him. "Come on Charlie, I'm not trying to _protect_ you. You don't drink, you don't know your limits." Charlie gaped back, incredulous. "How do you know that I don't drink Don? What, you think I've never tasted liquor before? Never played a drinking game? Never had a hangover? What the hell do you know about me?" Don ran a hand through his hair, confused. "What do you mean, what do I know about you? I know—you—I—you don't drink, Charlie!" Charlie laughed a bit, shaking his head. "I drink plenty Don. I could out drink you any day of the week." Colby and Megan looked at each other, and Colby's mouth formed an excited "oh" as he processed this. Charlie and Don stared at each other, and Charlie was sure that his brother was going to leave or lecture him or something. But when quietly Don spoke, his words were _not_ what Charlie expected to hear—at all.

"Shot for shot, then."

Charlie looked at him. _Shot for shot_? Against _Don_? Holy shit, what was he thinking?

"Okay. Shot for shot. You're on."

Don stared at his brother. Holy shit. He'd accepted. What was he thinking?

"Yes!" Colby screamed from the table. "Shot for shot, Eppes vs. Eppes! This is awesome! Don't just sit there, Megan, get the Vodka!"

* * *

To be concluded... 


	3. Chapter 3

And now, the grand finale. To those of you that have taken a moment to review, thank you so much...I sincerely appreciate it.

Enjoy

* * *

**Shot for Shot**

_Chapter 3_

* * *

Charlie was beginning to feel like the dubious star of a bad movie. The table had been cleared, and he and Don sat facing each other, with Megan, Colby and David lining the sides. Colby had lined up the glasses—three per person, to get started—and five different bottles of liquor. All that was lacking was a single light bulb hanging from a chain and an unruly crowd of sweaty thugs, cheering them on. Or maybe just the lightbulb… 

Don contemplated his brother. Jesus, what had he started? He was supposed to be handling things, controlling the team, keeping the pressure off his brother. And not only had he failed miserably, but had instigated this primordial display of machismo—Christ, _shot_ _for_ _shot_? Maybe they could have a good old fashioned pissing contest on the lawn afterword. Hell, they both probably need it. But how could Charlie say that Don didn't know anything about him? Don knew plenty.

He knew all about his brother's accomplishments mathematically, of course. He knew that Charlie had a thing for Amita. Um...he knew his music preferences! He knew his favorite food was...turkey?

But those were very superficial, very peripheral things. What about the important stuff? As he thought about it, he began to realize that maybe he didn't know his brother as well as he thought. He didn't know who his first girlfriend was, or how old he'd been when they'd met. He didn't know if Charlie had ever been to a party or a concert. And when _was_ the first time Charlie got drunk, since it sure as hell wasn't tonight. Why didn't Don know any of this stuff? And more importantly, why had he not cared to until just now?

His musings were interrupted as Colby began to speak. The self-appointed moderator of the whole affair, Colby rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "Okay, here's how it goes—we'll flip a coin to see who starts. Winner chooses to go first or second. Whoever goes first gets to choose the drink and take the shot. The second person has to take a shot of the same drink. If the first person takes a shot and the second person can't complete it, the first person's the winner. If the first person gets to a point where he can't drink anymore, the second person can take any one shot of his choice to be declared champion. If either contender can't keep up, throws up, or passes out, they lose. Do you men accept these rules?"

Don and Charlie nodded grimly. Megan clapped her hands, settling back in her chair while trying to decide whom to root for. David nursed a bottle of beer, looking both stunned and excited about the upcoming entertainment. Colby was on cloud nine. The evening couldn't have gone better. Megan had been tanked almost from the get-go, and though he was teetering on the edge himself, he was the clear winner of _that_ particular challenge. And now the two people that he wanted to see get hammered more than _anyone in the world_ were going head to head on a surefire road to shitfaced. Life was good. He fumbled in his pocket for a quarter.

"Okay," he said, producing it. "Charlie, since it's your house, heads or tails?" Charlie thought a moment before choosing 'tails.' Colby tossed it in the air, too high, and it bounced across the room and under the stove. "Shit," he mumbled. "Reeves, gimme a quarter." She pulled one from the pocket of her jeans and pushed it across the table. He grabbed it clumsily and tried again. Forty-five cents later David took control of the coin-toss, smiling in satisfaction as the dime Charlie had scrounged up in a drawer landed cleanly in his palm. Colby leaned over to look and grinned. "Tails! Wait, who was tails?" Don gestured to Charlie, and Colby smiled broadly. "Your call Charlie. First or second?"

Don figured that Charlie would go first, as that would enable him to choose the drink and set the pace, so he a bit surprised at his brother's answer. "I'll go second." Colby nodded appreciatively, impressed. "Whiz Kid's going second. All right Don, it's on you. Challenge starts with the first shot. Whenever you're ready."

Don looked at his brother for one long moment, signifying one last chance to back out. The implication was not lost on Charlie, who had no intention of forfeiting. He looked eager, ready, and _determined_. All right then. Charlie was right—he didn't need Don's hovering, or his protection. Probably hadn't for a long time. He had it covered all by himself. Don steeled himself.

"Okay baby brother. Game on."

* * *

Don grabbed the first shot glass. He eyed his options and gestured to a bottle of Firewater. Colby poured a shot for Don and pushed it forward, then poured a similar shot for Charlie. Don grabbed the glass and slammed it, all business, earning a whoop from his onlookers. Charlie quickly grabbed his and did the same, his face steady and passive as he swallowed. Don didn't waste any time, quickly indicating another shot of the same. He knew from experience that Firewater got worse the more you drank, and he wanted to smoke Charlie out early. If he didn't want to be coddled, Don wouldn't coddle him. Welcome to the grown-ups' table, punk. 

But Charlie kept right up, and four shots later Don decided to switch to something else. He examined his choices again and pointed to an unopened bottle of Highland Park single malt, and saw Charlie crinkle his nose. Don smiled. Good.

But after the first shot, Don understood his brother's reservation. The stuff was thick, and left a horrible aftertaste in his already too-dry-for-comfort mouth. In fairness, the lingering residue of cinnamon from the Firewater surely didn't help. Don choked it down, made no overt indication of the turn of his stomach. They were only five shots in—no way was he bowing out this early.

Charlie watched his brother carefully. He could tell that the whiskey hadn't gone down easy, that was for sure. And Charlie was not looking forward to his round—he and Highland Park had a history, and he had no great desire to revisit it. But Don didn't know that story, so at least he was content in the knowledge that the selection hadn't been maliciously motivated. Megan had poured his shot, as she and David had decided to act as cheerleaders to Colby's referee. David moved closer to Don and Megan to Charlie, offering words of encouragement in a way that made Charlie feel like a prizefighter. He clutched the glass and tried not to breath in, tried not to smell it before slamming it back.

Oh God. It was just as bad as he remembered. Worse, actually, because now he associated the taste of it with the unprecedented bout of vomiting that had followed his first go-around with the stuff. He grimaced, swallowed a few times, willing the wretched liquid not to come back up.

Don was watching him with interest. Charlie _really_ didn't like that stuff. This could be his ticket to victory. Except that he wasn't too crazy about it either and kind of wanted to move onto something else. He caught Charlie's eye and smiled. "Pretty bad, huh?" Charlie smiled back, offering a small nugget. "First hangover." Don nodded, understanding. That was tough. He remembered his first hangover. Hadn't touched tequila since.

With this little bit of information, Don had a choice to make. After a bit of deliberation, he decided to take the high road and skipped the whiskey, looking instead at the other alternatives. He was going back and forth—rum or vodka—when it suddenly hit him.

He was _drunk_.

Like, _really_ trashed. Trashed in a way that he hadn't been in a long time. To the extent that he wanted to throw on some Three Dog Night and belt out "Never Been to Spain" at the top of his lungs. The thought made him laugh.

Charlie saw Don laughing and snickered. Oh yeah, Don was wasted. And he wasn't the only one to notice. Colby started jumping up and down like a five year old, pointing at Don in elation. "Don's drunk Don's drunk Don's drunk Don's drunk!" Don sighed, then gave them all a goofy, resigned smile. "Yeah, I'm drunk," he said, and David clapped him on the back, laughing loudly. "But," he continued, pointing at Charlie, all business, "we're not done yet. Colby! Give me the Captain." Colby stopped bouncing and grabbed the bottle of Captain Morgan, pouring two shots out for his contenders. "Drink! Drink! Drink!" he chanted, riling up Megan and David in the process. Don cracked his neck and slammed it, grabbing Colby's beer as a chaser. They all cheered, then looked expectedly at Charlie. He didn't disappoint, downing his in one fluid shot. The cheering continued and Don asked for another, then another, then one more. After that series, he became aware of two things. The first was that he could probably take one, _maybe_ two, more drinks before blackout became a serious probability. And the second was that he was damn proud of his brother's endurance. Charlie may be soused, but he was still standing. But all feelings of pride and affection aside, the time had come. He needed to finish this.

"I want," he said, looking at Colby, "the Everclear." Colby paused, looking around the table. "We don't have Everclear, Don." Charlie stared at Don but spoke to Colby. "Yeah we do. Cabinet above the fridge." David and Megan exchanged glances. Everclear was pretty damn rough. Megan attempted to intervene, drunk though she was. "Hey guys, come on…one of you is gonna have a fucking seizure. Why don't you try a nice Chardonnay? Huh?" They said nothing, maintaining eye contact with only each other. "Or you could call it a draw?" She knew it was a fruitless effort as they both smiled, still staring each other down. "No draw," Don argued as Charlie shook his head. "He gets to choose. Those are the rules, right?" Charlie said, breaking eye contact and turning. "Colby?"

Colby had no reservations. In all his drinking experiences—and he had them aplenty—Everclear only yielded two results: stone cold unconsciousness or all-out hysteria. It was damn funny either way, and he darted over to find it.

Charlie watched him go. Man, was he shitfaced. He thought he was hiding it pretty well but it was taking a _lot_ of effort. He watched Colby rifling through cabinets, but didn't dare get up to help him. He doubted he could stand if he wanted to. And he knew Don was in the same boat, and all the sudden he was struck by how much fun he was having. He was having a drink-off with his brother and he was holding his own, and he felt as though a barrier had been broken tonight. Hell, as soon as Don had demanded Everclear he'd been certain of it. No more holding back or pussyfooting around. And all Charlie could think was that it was about damn time.

"Found it!" Colby said, waving the bottle triumphantly. He walked it over, holding it with a certain reverence and set it in the center of the table. He grabbed a few more shot glasses. "And in honor of this momentous occasion, let us all have a drink in solidarity with our dumbass friends here. If they go shot for shot, we go shot for shot. Agreed?" David shook his head vigorously. "I ain't touching that stuff," to which Megan replied "Here, here." Colby scoffed. "You kidding me? I'm not drinking that—I was taking about the Captain here." He passed around the bottle of rum and they topped off their own shot glasses, aware that in a few minutes they'd have some serious catching up to do if they wanted to stay on par with the brothers Eppes.

Colby grabbed the Everclear and poured the shots right to the brim, pushing them carefully to their respective contenders. Don pulled his close without lifting it. He looked at his brother, who was eyeing his somewhat warily. "Charlie," he said to get his attention. His brother looked up. "Same time, no hands, no chasers." Charlie's mouth opened a bit but Don cut him off. "I make the rules. I assume you've done a no-handed shot." Charlie's gape turned into a smile. "Donnie, you have no idea." Don smirked. "You're right. Colby, count it down." Colby was standing, two hands on the table, ready to burst. "All right gentleman, on three." At "one," Don and Charlie each lowered their heads, opening their mouths wide and grabbing the brims of their glasses with their lips. On "two" Charlie made a show of putting his hands behind him back, earning an awkward smile from Don.

"Three!"

They slammed their heads back, the glasses going vertical as the 180 proof vodka burned down their throats. As soon as his was drained Charlie spit the shot glass out, dropping it onto the table and gasping. Don did likewise, the other three cheering wildly as they drained their own, less abrasive, counterparts. Colby grabbed Charlie's shoulders from behind, shaking him ecstatically. "I didn't know you had it in ya Whiz Kid! That was fucking awesome!" Don eyed his brother, his head twitching spasmodically as he did so, still reeling from the potent alcohol. He spoke slowly. "Nah Colby, he's a pro." He caught his brother's eye and winked, seeing that he too was trying to shake it off. "First time you got drunk. How old?" Charlie smiled. "Fifteen. Princeton. Frat party. You?" Don smiled. "Fifteen. Baker Street. House party." Colby, grabbing the bottle again, stood ready. "Number two?"

The brothers looked at each other. This time it was Don who spoke. "No. Let's call it a draw." This elicited a wild cheer from Megan who clapped her hands above her head approvingly. "But," said Don, reaching for the bottle himself. "let's drink on it." He passed a shot to his brother, and held his up over the table. Charlie held his out as well, and they downed them at the same time. The spasms started again, each swallowing and coughing, but smiling broadly. Don set his glass down and pushed his chair back. He braced his hands on the table, shoving off slowly until he was pretty sure he was standing. The room spun a bit, and he turned to talk to his brother. He opened his mouth, shut it, opened it, shut it again. Then he turned very slowly and started walking across the kitchen in small and deliberate steps. He'd almost made it to the door before breaking into a staggered sprint for the bathroom. They door had barely shut when the unmistakable sounds of retching reached the kitchen.

Charlie's eyes grew wide. "I won?" he said, disbelief on his face. His incredulity quickly turned to elation, and he raised his hands over his head. "I won!" he screamed, the words coming in long exaggerated yells. Colby, who'd already set off a cheer, grabbed his hand victoriously and waved it above his head. "Holy shit! Charlie! Charlie! Charlie!" Charlie laughed. Then stopped. He removed his hand from Colby's and leaned against the table for a moment. Megan, laughing across the table, looked at him closely. "Uh-oh…" she said, just as he whipped a hand over his mouth and dashed for the door. They heard him clamoring across the porch before identical sounds of gagging made their way inside.

The scene in the kitchen was one of unbridled euphoria. "You guys are such losers!" yelled Colby as David yelled out, "Nevermind! It's a draw!"

* * *

Don woke up slowly and immediately wished that he hadn't. "Oh, man," he groaned, clutching his head with one hand. He cracked an eye open, trying to orient himself. He was on the floor of Charlie's living room, his back leaned up against the couch that held, based on the hair tickling his face, Megan. He looked up to confirm. Yup, Megan was still dead to the world, her arms wrapped loosely around a pillow. He turned to look forward, pushing himself up on his elbows, trying to ignore the buzzing in his ears. And there was David, stretched out in the recliner, his feet propped up on the footstool. Don wondered if he'd slept all night like that. That was gonna hurt. Not that he would be in much better shape…he had a wicked cramp in his neck, and cracked it a few times to loosen it up. 

God damn, he had to pee.

He stood up gingerly, taking a tentative step to gauge his current level of inebriation. Yeah, still drunk, but at least he was lucid. He glanced at the clock on his way to the bathroom. It was just ten after seven in the morning, so he guessed he'd slept for about four hours or so. He guessed, anyway. He didn't really have a clear memory of the night after that second shot of Everclear.

After he'd relieved himself he stepped out of the bathroom and ambled back into the living room. He stood at the doorway, gazing around. No Charlie and no Colby. He thought about checking the bedrooms, just to put his mind at ease, when he heard a hoot from the backyard.

He stepped to the window next to the door and peered out. Charlie was emerging from the shed at the far end, stumbling as his foot caught against the door. He spotted Colby and yelled triumphantly. "I found 'em!" Don watched as he plodded out, a fishing pole clutched securely in each hand. What the hell? He wasn't...

Oh, yes he was. Charlie stumbled his way over to the Koi pond, sitting heavily on the mowed grass. As Don watched, baffled, Charlie extended the rod of his pole and plunked it into the water, tossing a look over his shoulder as he did. "Colby! I got the fishin' poles."

At this point Don knew that it was time for an intervention, and he pushed the screen door open. He stepped carefully down the steps and approached Colby, who was crawling on his hands and knees, diligently rounding up every last twig he could find. He stood over him, and Colby looked up dumbly. A big grin split his face. "Hey Don!" Don switched to FBI mode. "Colby, what the hell are you doing?" Colby put his head back down, piling his twigs carefully. "We're havin' a cookout!" He looked up again. "You ever had fish on a-open fire Don? S'so good." Don shook his head and walked over to his brother. Charlie, hearing his approach, attempted to turn around to look. He lost his balance and fell flat on his back, and was gaping at the sky when Don reached him.

"Donnie! Ya wanna go fishin'? I got two poles!"

* * *

After a short debate, Don convinced Charlie that he really didn't want to grill his precious Koi over an open flame. In his efforts to wrangle the two of them back into the house, he learned that while the others had all turned in (one way or another) several hours previous, Colby and Charlie had decided keep the night alive with a rousing game of Screw the Dealer. With just the two of them playing, and alternating dealer duties, well...things had gotten a little out of hand. 

By the time they'd reached the kitchen, Don felt as if he was dragging two dead bodies behind him. The mere suggestion of sleep had almost completely incapaciatated his brother and teammate, and he propped Colby up against the kitchen wall to deal with Charlie first.

After Charlie was sprawled out on his father's bed...no way in hell was Don dragging him upstairs...he headed back to the kitchen to retrieve Colby. He'd planned to set him up on the loveseat, but as he heaved him across the floor, he changed his mind and made a sudden turn.

A few moments later, and with a spare pillow, Don settled himself back across the floor, ready for a few more solid hours. He smiled as he drifted off, thinking of Colby and his brother getting some much needed shut-eye.

In his father's bed.

Together.

Their hands loosely intertwined.

* * *

The next time Don awoke, it was well after eleven o'clock and he could hear stirring in the other room. He sat up and stretched, stiff, and tried in vain to shake the cotton out of his ears. He'd almost forgotten what a _real_ hangover felt like. 

He went into the kitchen, where Megan and David were seated at the table talking amiably. When she saw Don, Megan smiled. "Morning, sunshine!" Her expression turned to one of sympathy as he winced, and David chimed in. "How's the head, man?" Don exhaled, pulled out a chair and buried his head in his arms. Davd laughed. "That good, huh? Here, hold on." He stood and headed over to the counter, returning with a tall glass of grayish-purple sludge. He passed it to Don. "Drink this. Guaranteed to knock out your hangover in sixty minutes or less. My dad's recipe." Don leaned over tentatively, sniffed it, scrunched up his face. "What the hell is in this thing?" David and Megan answered at the same time.

"You don't want to know."

* * *

If David's dad wasn't in heaven, then there weren't no such place. Not only did his headache cease and his senses clear, but less than an hour later, Don was ready and willing to do it all again. 

"That stuff's amazing David. How the hell did he come up with that?" David shrugged. "I don't know. Best thing he ever taught me though, that's for sure." The three of them talked for awhile around the table, eventually moving into the living room to settle in on the couches for the afternoon news. Megan looked at her watch. "Are they ever gonna get up?" Don shrugged. "They didn't go to bed until almost seven-thirty. And they kept drinking right until the bitter end. I'd be surprised to see either one of them before tomorrow." Megan grinned, then looked around. "I'm guessing that Charlie's in his room, but where'd you stash Colby?" Before Don could answer a loud _thump_ came from somewhere outside the living room, followed by the muffled sounds of an expletive. David had jumped to his feet, concerned, but relaxed a bit when Don just laughed, clutching his stomach, the scene vivid in his mind without even needing to bear witness.

Charlie stumbled from the bedroom, his eyes wide. At the sight of his brother he stopped suddenly, and jerked forward when Colby slammed into him. They absorbed Don's laughter, both coming to the realization at the same time. "Oh, thank you Jesus," Colby muttered as Charlie glared at his brother. "Don, you're _such_ an asshole."

* * *

Don and Charlie sat on the porch, enjoying the cool breeze and darkening sky. The others had left in David's car, heading out for Chinese food and Blockbuster with plans to reconvene in an hour or so for dinner and a movie. And maybe a few drinks, but not a binge-fest like the night before. David's little concoction really had worked wonders, but they were all looking forward to a simple night of fun and camaraderie...and sobriety. Don leaned into the swing, resting his arms behind his head. 

"How come I thought you were a novice drinker?" he asked, surprising himself a bit with the question. Charlie glanced at him. "I don't know. Never really came up, I guess." Don gave him a sideways glance. "Should I start calling you Alkie?" Charlie chuckled, shook his head. Don looked thoughtful. "A lot of stuff has never really come up, huh?" Charlie smiled. "Well, we're busy guys, Don." His brother didn't look convinced, so Charlie kept on. "Hey, don't sit there feeling guilty...it's not like I know everything about you either." Don still didn't say anything. If he was too busy to get to know his little brother, something was wrong. And he made a decision. "Well, we'll just have to carve some time out of our busy schedules then." At Charlie's interested look, he kept on. "I want to know this stuff buddy. I shouldn't be so surprised to see that you can hold your liquor, you know? I should already know that." Charlie smiled, leaning back in a postuire strikingly like his brother's. "Sounds good Don. Me too."

They were quiet for a minute. Don smiled. "A frat party, eh? I'm going to assume that Mom didn't know about this." Charlie smiled. "No. It was the first and only weekend that she let me stay on campus alone. She had to come back here for Aunt Edna's retirement party." He smiled at the memory. "One of the guys from my Computational Mathematics course invited me. I don't think I was really supposed to come." Don laughed at that. After a pause, Charlie spoke. "So you really like that song, huh?" Don's brow furrowed. "What song?" Charlie smiled. "Never Been to Spain. After our mutual puke-fest, you came out of the bathroom, put that CD in, and played that song over and over and over and over. And over," he said, laughing as his brother's cheeks flushed, just slightly. "You got a pretty good voice, by the way. Some talent there." Don buried his head in his hands, while Charlie, on a roll, threw his head back, singing in a voice that was two parts moaning and one screeching. "Well I never been to Heaven! But I been to Oklahoma!" Don's face went deeper into his arms. "Oh man," he said, not looking at Charlie as his brother broke into a fit of giggles. "I don't remember that. _Really_?" Charlie nodded. "Fraid so, brother." Don shook his head. He would _never_ live this one down. He sighed. Oh well. Whatever. He'd known he was right on the edge...

"So really, is there any particular reason that you wanted to listen to that song sixty, seventy times?" asked Charlie with a grin. Don smiled back, settling into the swing. "No, not really. Just, that was the song that was playing at the bar the night I met Kim. It was kind of our song, you know?" Charlie nodded silently. His brother didn't often talk about his romantic life, and almost never about Kim. Hell, they'd been _engaged_ and he still hadn't introduced her to the family. He spoke quietly. "Do you miss her?" Don shook his head. "No." At Charlie's look, he leaned forward. "No, I really don't. It wasn't gonna work. I've moved on. It's just one of those things though, when I drink...just kind of sticks now." Charlie nodded again, a bit surprised but entirely grateful for this glimpse into Don's life.

"So tell me something I don't know," Don said suddenly. "A big secret. Something that will shock me." Charlie absently scratched his chin, thinking. "Hmm. I don't know." He was quiet for a minute, then leaned forward, his hands clasped in his lap. "You remember Marianne Fletcher?" Don thought for a moment before she came surging to mind. "Oh yeah, I remember Marianne. Why—" He looked at Charlie who just raised an eyebrow and grinned. Don stared at him. "No. No way. You're lying." Charlie shrugged. "Okay," he dismissively. "I'm lying." Don gaped at him. "Are you shitting me?" Charlie leaned into the cushion, gazing across the street absently. "She had the craziest birthmark—" Don clapped a hand over his ear. "Oh, I don't want to hear it Charlie! God! Seriously?" Charlie nodded. He let out a low whistle. Don saw Charlie blush slightly—whether from Don's reaction or the sheer memory, he couldn't be sure. He turned to him, shaking his head.

"How the _hell_ did you get Marianne Fletcher?"

* * *

_Fin_

* * *

Told you it was stupid. :) Thanks so much for reading! Hope you enjoyed. I love reviews. Really. True story. 

And for those of you not familiar with "Never Been to Spain," it's a great song. You should check it out. ;)

-Rhapsodista


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